A Doctor prepares his operating theatre
by Sir Cracken
Summary: A look inside the twisted mind Herman Carter.


The most difficult part about keeping the institute in a suitable state of repair was exchanging the regularly played tapes. Eventually, even the most broken of subjects would respond to the repetitive screaming with subconscious ignorance. This was why Carter needed to be as precise as possible when exchanging them. It would not do for even the slightest bit of familiarity to be given as this could be used as a raft against the flood of madness that was his hunting tool.

He kept track of the regulars and their companions, as to only use the screams of those that had little time together. Carter had debated in his head for a while about what would be more effective. To use the cries of friends to induce the corrosion of their sanity via empathy, or by unfamiliarity. He opted for the latter as the old saying of "a burden shared is a burden halved" might have proven true.

With great precision he tore up the tape's insides after confirming their contents and neatly fused them together anew. It was curious how the migraine inducing shocks that flew from his fingers was known more to Carter than how the tapes came together so clearly after cutting them. He theorised about static, the general rules of physics and chemical compositions as he replaced the tapes around the facility, making sure that the speakers were throughly cleaned and fine tuned as he did so.

With the hardest of his tasks completed Carter continued roaming around the building towards his office. It was rare that he was allowed entry into it after a hunt. It was his favourite place to engage in a practise he loved only as much as electrocuting the subjects. He sat down and rested the metal rod he was carrying on his right, then started to flick through the books before him.

They were his old research papers.

Were his mouth not already forced into a smile, Carter would've grinned with cold hearted nostalgia at the reminder of his accomplishments. Though he was praised as a terrific scientist before his entry into the institute, only once he was there did his potential become bright enough to see how truly malleable the human mind is. It was like marble, only with the longevity of plastic and extremely conductible. Carter thought of the time that he first saw electricity running through an exposed brain's grey matter. How the mere touch of static caused it to shiver and twist, contract and contort until the voltage caused it to combust like firecrackers. It was impossible to tell but Carter's grin was growing wider as his sadistic start to brain manipulation was being lived again, thanks to the vivid descriptions in his writing.

His hands fizzled with blue sparks, and the dust surrounding the volumes was visibly incinerated. Carter quickly put the books down and checked himself. He did not want the trouble of earning his valuable reading material all over again. It would take more than a fair share of subjects to please the omnipotent force that demanded unparalleled fear from diluted eyes and Carter, although presently excited, didn't want those eyes to be his.

He placed his hands on his chest and regulated his breathing, inhaling and exhaling as methodically as he could. He tried to think of typically calming scenery, his former bedroom, empty hallways and the office he was presently standing in. He gained no peace from this however. The time that such thoughts would relax his mind was long passed. He decided it was better to leave the unread notes until a later date.

He inspected his spiked rod as he exited the office. It was starting to get dull. Carter's widened eyes looked around the concrete walls for a suitable surface to sharpen it as he strolled around. He saw one of the sacrificial hooks with its razor edge gleaming in the artificial light but quickly dismissed the idea of damaging it lest he risk the loss of his notes again. He considered the prospect of using the rod as a dedicated weapon despite its condition but feared few open wounds would be made from a successful strike, making following an injured subject without losing sight of them that much harder. Carter was starting to wonder if there was anything within his malformed interpretation of reason that would act as a grind stone and then heard the familiar sound of humming machinery.

It was one of the blasted generators, the light at which several moths were drawn too, with its parts spinning rapidly whilst emitting the irritating and unforgettable noise of progress. As infuriating as it was to Carter it would sharpen the instrument of punishment well as he carefully fed it into the whirling gears piece by piece. After Carter's finger tips had measured the effectiveness of his newly sharpened weapon he gave the loud contraption a hard kick. Its lights flickered off and the gears ceased their motion.

The silence was immediate.

Carter wasn't used to silence. He was used to his footsteps and static filling up the air. But when it did fall, even momentarily, the silence always made Carter uneasy.

It made him worry that his power might've started to fade, after all he still didn't fully understand how the presence had gave it to him to begin with. He started briskly away hoping that the hallway's echoes would drive out the paranoia that was slowly starting to tighten its grip over his mind.

A small bead of sweat started at his forehead then trickled down over his cheek, before being wiped away by his free hand. He impatiently clicked his fingers in an attempt to reproduce the crackling, but naught came from it but the echoes in the hall.

Then soft whispers filled his ears.

He couldn't understand them but he knew what they meant and started to focus on his surroundings. He just managed to see a figure narrowly slip out of sight in the corner of his eye. His hands began to emit blue electricity.

If his mouth wasn't already in a forced smile, Carter would have started to grin.


End file.
